Crazy in Love (Blue Lake #3)(8)

“Perfect,” he said, and the intensity of his gaze started to burn.

Rachael disappeared into the kitchen and breathed deeply. The air was cooler in here, thank goodness. She made Cole a plate and cleaned up the breakfast mess. Out the window, his entourage hopped back into their cars. Rita caught Rachael staring, and glared, slamming the door shut behind her. Rachael had just finished putting away the last dish when she felt Cole’s presence behind her.

“You should’ve gone with them,” she said.

“Nah.” He stole a piece of bacon off the plate she was moving to the fridge, and chomped off a huge bite. “When in Rome, you should cruise around town with people from Rome, right?”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes, but something tells me you wouldn’t care anyway.” She dried off her hands, and then grabbed her coat and keys. “You ready?”

He nodded. “Lead the way, gorgeous.”

She stopped, her chest tingling with warmth. “Please don’t call me that.”

“All right, Miss Rachael McCoy,” he said with a wink and a show-stopping smile. “Show me the way to your carriage.”

This was going to be the week from hell. Not because she hated the way Cole Turner talked to her, or the way he looked at her.

But because she liked those things too much.





Chapter Four





They drove forever. Okay, they drove thirty minutes southeast, but every bend looked the same—trees, rocks, rivers, wash, rinse and repeat—which made the minutes drag by. Cole thought they’d never reach the winery. The only reason he didn’t demand to be taken back to his room was because Rachael, the beauty he couldn’t figure out, sat beside him.

She was stunning. Soft eyes, dark lashes that batted against pale pink cheeks, and a set of heart-shaped lips that he wanted to press his against. She was thin and toned, yet she didn’t look skeletal, like she’d stab him for a steak.

The thing was, women like Rachael McCoy were usually all over him by now.

He hadn’t slept a wink last night, and it was all her fault. It was only the two of them in that big inn, and she slept a few doors down…close enough that she should’ve been knocking on his door in the middle of the night for a quick romp. Every hour that ticked by, he checked the clock. Listened for footsteps to thump down the hall.

And somehow, every single agonizing hour, he’d been let down. If it wasn’t for the thought of Rachael kicking him out and making a scene—and Rita freaking out for creating yet another problem during the tour—he would’ve knocked on her door.

But he hadn’t.

Tonight would be different. Tonight, she’d beg him to come to bed with her. He’d up his game and she’d be putty in his hands.

She veered off the road and drove beneath a large arching sign that read: StoneMill Winery. The gravel driveway was long and winding, with vines of grapes lining either side.

“Wonder why they put roses at the end of the vines that way?” he asked, watching out the window as row upon row passed with roses at the head.

“There are diseases that strike grapes from time to time,” Rachael said simply. “Roses are more susceptible to getting those than grapes and serve as an early warning for the winery manager. If the roses are infected, the manager knows to take action. The grapes will be next.”

“That’s crazy.” He leaned his elbow on the door. “How’d you know that?”

“I told you, Lucy’s a friend of mine. We used to be in a book club together in town. We’ve remained close through the years, especially after she approached me about partnering for the Shows at StoneMill Package.”